


In a world where I no longer exist

by bookoftheazuresky



Series: Hesperus [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Except not really because fantasizing, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 09:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookoftheazuresky/pseuds/bookoftheazuresky
Summary: Sandalphon has vanished without a trace, and Lucifer comes, much too late, to a realization of his own desires.





	In a world where I no longer exist

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the most glorious meadowlarked, may she receive all that she desires. Especially for encouraging me with my idea of "spicy wartime lucisan with sandy clawing luci until he bleeds." This occurs chronologically before that time was lost, but should probably be read afterwards.
> 
> Title is from FFXIII-2, because that's this series' brand.

Olivia had laughed in Lucifer’s face and sneered that she wasn’t Sandalphon’s keeper, he should try Shemhazai or Raziel.

Azazel had spit on his boots, snarl twisting his lips and curses on his tongue.

Shemhazai’s mouth had quirked up, and the Whisperer quoted, "Gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond…" uncaring that she had been bound and entirely at his mercy.

Raziel had looked at him with gray eyes emptied of moonlight and said, “Nothing I have to say will reach your ears, will it? I haven’t known where he is for some time, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”

Fallen and demon and traitor alike had produced the same results: Sandalphon was not amongst their ranks any longer, and none could tell him why, or even if he still lived.

It was a strain to maintain his façade of serenity, regardless of the fact that only Michael had been privy to his questioning of the rebel primals before they were consigned to Pandemonium. Belial’s sideways look, his wicked mouth gone crooked with a sharp smile, was all-too-knowing. And what Belial knew, nine times out of ten made its way back to their creator’s ears. On top of the whispers that now haunted Lucifer regarding the Astral researcher and his ex-adjutant, it was very nearly too much to bear.

Therefore, after satisfying Michael with barely-remembered orders and platitudes, Lucifer retreated to the hollow seclusion of Canaan and the small cluster of islands where all the primarchs were born. He had been allotted quarters long ago on the highest and smallest of the islands, and he had maintained them off and on even as the complex emptied due to other strategic objectives needing the personnel. He supposed that the labs might be reopened and rehabilitated now that the back of the rebellion was broken. Certainly the research base in Enoch was no longer trustworthy.

His room was white and stark, softened only by the morning glory vines he had coaxed to cover the south-facing wall and window. In his absence they had grown thicker than ever, claiming the entire far side of the room and throwing twining vines about the headboard of the bed. The pink-touched blooms were tightly furled in the slanting evening light. He touched one of the ones that had encroached upon the bed, banishing his wings and sitting for the first time in what felt like days. A thought, and the flower opened as if it were daybreak, showing its blushing petals and golden center.

Not for the first time, Lucifer wished that he’d been created with no greater purpose than to coax islands into blooming. Though he had been created with the capacity to fight and fight well, he had no love for it as Michael or Uriel did. He was tired to death of war.

Sitting transitioned to lying, and Lucifer gave into the temptation of closing his eyes and seeking a moment’s oblivion.

~

Lucifer woke to motion: knees bracketing his thighs, a grip on his hair that pulled his head back, and the kiss of a blade on his newly bared throat. He froze, sleep gone in an instant, looking up into a familiar face.

A flame burned sullenly down in the depths of Sandalphon’s eyes- madness or rage, Lucifer couldn’t say. The youth Lucifer remembered was entirely consumed by it. This archangel moved with deadly grace and confidence, without hesitation. His hands and blade were stained by blood. Sandalphon had grown into his potential, into his adult self, and it was nothing that Lucifer had wanted for him and beguiling all the same.

He twisted fingers in Lucifer’s hair, provoking a wince. “My dearest Lord,” Sandalphon said with cutting sarcasm. “So this is what you desired all this time. Mastery.” The smile on his lips was mocking. “All the powers of the Supreme Primarch at your fingertips, and you wish only for this.”

Whatever Lucifer would have replied was lost when Sandalphon kissed him, invading his mouth and stealing his breath. His soft lips demanded a response and Lucifer gave it with a shocking and desperate ardency barely checked by the cold steel at his neck.

A chuckle. Sandalphon pulled back, eyes hooded and knowing. The hand fisted in Lucifer’s hair released, and calloused fingertips traced the dampness the glossed Lucifer’s lips from their kiss.

“I’ll give it to you…no, I’ll _take_ it from you. All you have to do is obey.”

“Sandal-“ The archangel leaned more of his weight into the sword, the blade singing to his aethereal senses with the intensity and purpose Sandalphon had manifested it with. Skin parted under its edge and Lucifer could feel warmth start to trickle from the cut.

“Hush now,” Sandalphon said, showing just a hint of his teeth in his smile. “We wouldn’t want anyone to interfere, would we? This is just between the two of us.”

Yes. It’s always been between the two of them. Sandalphon must read the agreement in his face, because he lightened the touch of his sword again. The cut on Lucifer’s throat throbbed with the lingering chord of a primal’s deadly intent.

“I want your hands above your head,” Sandalphon ordered. “One at a time, now.”

Slowly, silently, Lucifer obeyed. Right, then left, palms turned face-up in a gesture of surrender.

“ _Good_.” The pleased tone made a shiver skitter up Lucifer’s spine. Sandalphon’s legging-clad knees tightened around his thighs as the traitor angel shifted his weight deliberately, stretching up to touch wrists bare of protective armor. Bonds of light encircled them, holding his arms in place.

A thought surfaced: _I could break these_. They were well-made, but Lucifer’s magic could easily overpower the binding. Even the sword at his throat was not an impossible threat. Lucifer didn’t particularly _want_ his throat opened, but he was an excellent healer and fixing it was not beyond him. It would be an ugly way to start a fight, but Lucifer was sufficiently stronger than Sandalphon that he was nearly certain he would win no matter what.

…he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to fight Sandalphon. He wanted Sandalphon to kiss him again, to leave the marks of his nails and teeth on Lucifer’s skin. He wanted the erratic pulse of his core, the weight on top of him. He wanted to know what _Sandalphon_ wanted and to give it to him.

Tension unraveled, and he went limp under the dark-haired archangel. “Oh, yes,” Sandalphon purred, “this _is_ what you wanted.” The sword lifted from his neck entirely, neatly reversed and laid on the bed. Sandalphon lifted Lucifer’s chin and kissed him again. Their mouths meshed, and fine-boned hands swept down to explore the rest of Lucifer’s lightly-clad form.

More people had touched Lucifer with violence in their hearts than anything of kindness. Lucifer had never been encouraged to let anyone close, and now such things had been cast aside by the momentum of the campaign against the rebel primal beasts. Kindred he had known since their creation had cut him, bitten him, ripped feathers from his wings, cast every type of elemental magic at him, wrapped him in pain and delusion, and cursed him and the Astrals alike. Sandalphon had been one of the few who had dared to touch him before, featherlight brushes of fingers as they exchanged coffee in that secluded garden. Now his touch blurred the line between the two extremes- harsh, confident of his possession, full of a hot, thorny desire that left Lucifer bleeding. Nails dug into his flesh, leaving red and weeping crescents and welts behind. Teeth nipped into his bottom lip, flavoring their urgent kisses with the taste of copper and crystallized light.

Sandalphon ripped himself away, mouth blood-smeared, eyes nearly the same shade. He raked fingers and light down Lucifer’s front, unraveling the thin fabric into the magic it was woven from and leaving shallow cuts behind that immediately started welling up. A short cry startled out of Lucifer’s mouth, though whether it was from the cessation of the kiss or the shock and pain of the new wounds, he couldn’t say. Everything was tangling together, the pain and pleasure at Sandalphon’s hands blending into a heat that wracked his body.

“Sandalphon, please!” Lucifer didn’t know what he was asking for, he just _wanted_. Wanted Sandalphon in his arms, wanted his red-dyed mouth, wanted _everything_.

The traitor angel only hushed him with a finger against his mouth this time, but Lucifer obediently quieted, chest heaving from the force of his breaths. Salt sweat was stinging in his cuts, throat and chest and swollen lip. He could taste the archangel’s lingering power in them, darkly golden with notes of bitter and burnt. Sandalphon licked the blood staining his mouth, then, maintaining eye contact, licked the ends of the red lines marring Lucifer’s collarbones. His pink tongue gathered up welling blood, then dipped into the wounds themselves. He sealed his lips over the torn-open skin in a perverse mockery of a kiss, sliding his tongue along the cut.

Lucifer moaned as Sandalphon graced every inch of the wounds with his warm lips and tongue and a bare hint of the power beneath his skin. Finally, looking feline and satisfied, Sandalphon halted where the slashes stopped, close to the waistline of his pants.

“Take them off,” Sandalphon rasped, his crimson eyes dark. A second to translate the words, another to find a spare thread of concentration when his whole body was humming from the rough treatment, and the rest of his clothes vanished. Sandalphon hummed in pleasure, something akin to victory in his eyes, and swiped a hand over his own, leaving light and then bare skin in its wake.

Sandalphon was compactly built, coiled strength written into his blade-sleek body. He was built for war; it was written in his broad sunhawk's wings, his offensively oriented magic, the ease with which he took to the sword. The logic behind was easy enough to grasp now that he knew what Lucilius had intended when the Astral had directed him to design a particular archangel: Lucifer was unlikely to die in peace.

Laid out underneath him, Lucifer could appreciate his body in a completely different way, no longer just an aesthetic liking of a design he’d wrought well. Sandalphon was living warmth and satin sleek skin, emblazoned with the colors of blood and earth. The ability to keep moving, breathing, living even as he was stained with mud. Infinitely desirable, when he was so weary.

Dark lashes lowered, Sandalphon looked at him like he’d divined the direction of Lucifer’s thoughts. Or perhaps he was only appreciating the admiration that was surely reflected in Lucifer’s face and posture. It was a pleased, secretive look, at any rate- though the flame of that unknowable passion still burned as darkly as ever.

“Would you like me to have you, my dearest Lord?” Sandalphon asked, hands idly wandering the pale skin displayed for his touch.

About to open his mouth, Lucifer recalled the command to silence. He dipped his head in affirmation instead. The thought of being possessed fully brought a flush to his body, hottest where his natural healing was working to scab over his injuries. Sandalphon touched his still-swollen bottom lip, bringing the synesthesia of his magical signature to Lucifer’s tongue.

“As my Lord desires.”

Sandalphon opened him perfunctorily with magic and a couple of fingers, a bare minimum of care. It wasn’t as if Lucifer was _breakable_ , after all. Lucifer couldn’t keep from seeking to get them deeper, his hips moving restlessly at the exploratory touches. When Sandalphon removed them, Lucifer clenched his hands in the bindings, then forced himself to relax. He couldn’t help picturing himself: pure white marred with stripes of red and a hot pink flush mantling him from cheeks to shoulders. It was nothing that he was made to be, open and aching to be filled.

Sandalphon, in something resembling mercy, kissed him before he bruised Lucifer’s hips with his grip and pressed in.

It hurt. Lucifer gasped for air, back arching as he pushed up into the solidity of the restraints. It hurt and he felt fragile and vulnerable and the blood pounded in his ears and he wanted it to hurt _more_. He wanted to be reduced to a whimpering mess. He tightened his legs around Sandalphon’s waist and rode the feeling out.

“So eager, my dearest Lord.” Sandalphon’s roughened voice shredded composure- or perhaps it was the way he petted Lucifer’s hip, the way they were so intimately joined, threads of power twining together everywhere their bare skin touched. “I’ll give you everything.” Then he _moved_.

Sandalphon made love like he fought, a brutality almost straightforward until he found weakness. He wanted Lucifer to enjoy this, because he was seeking all the spots that would wring inarticulate sound from Lucifer’s throat, smile flashing when he found a particularly good one. Lucifer’s hips and thighs bruised each time he shifted his grip. He braced himself against his bindings and did his best to move with the relentless pace, as Sandalphon took him to pieces with his body.

Breath roughening, Sandalphon let go of his waist and palmed his erection, untouched until now and aching with it. The new stimulation was shattering.

Lucifer threw his head back, voice entirely silenced. Teeth sank into the column of his neck, breaking skin. The world whited out under the combined sensations, leaving Lucifer’s mind cleanly, blissfully empty.

~

Lucifer woke, shaking and feverish and alone. It took several gasping breaths before he managed some kind of control over himself, and even then his cheeks and throat felt like they were painted with flame, his core heavy and stuttering in his breast. He pressed a hand over it and stumbled with none of his innate grace over to the morning-glory shrouded window.

Canaan unfolded below him, solemn under the veil of night but for the faint glow of its guardian wards. He resisted the urge to throw the window open to strip the heat from his body. The wind would bear its tidings to Raphael, and he was in no way capable of being Supreme Primarch in this moment, even to reassure. Not with the fantasy of a traitor on his lips.

His hands were trembling finely.

“Sandalphon.” His voice was low and strained. “Oh, Sandalphon…”


End file.
